


Nor Let Her Captivate You With Her Eyes

by afterandalasia



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), The Little Mermaid (1989)
Genre: Adultery, Church Sex, Community: disney_kink, Confessional Sex, Consent Issues, Crossover Relationships, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, F/M, Facial, Lust, Masturbation, Minor Ariel/Eric (Disney), POV Claude Frollo, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Priest Claude Frollo, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: Having realised that humans view sex as sinful, Ariel makes sure to explain in detail to Father Claude the sort of sins with which she has been struggling of late. Of course, she does not fully appreciate the effect which her confessions are having upon the man of the cloth, nor the lengths to which he will go in his talk of what her 'penance' should be.





	Nor Let Her Captivate You With Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Set *cough* time post-The Little Mermaid, so Ariel's age is not mentioned but I presumed that she was eighteen.
> 
> Consent issues because this is Frollo, and because he puts forward the idea that having sex with him instead of her husband is somehow less sinful.
> 
> Sometimes you've just got to write some filthy Frollo porn, you know?
> 
> Title from Proverbs 6:25. (Sorry. Had to misuse the Catholic upbringing somehow.)
> 
> From the great [Disney Kink prompt](http://disney-kink.dreamwidth.org/3291.html?thread=6861019#cmt6861019):
>
>> After marrying Eric, she's expected to do certain things, like attending church and confessing her sins. She has no idea what this entails though so she tells Frollo explicitly all of the sexual activities between her and Eric because she has realized all this sexual things are 'bad'. i hope I'm making sense...anyway, Frollo gets horny and asks her to meet him privately (ariel has no idea this probs shouldn't happen but she agrees). At first she refuses his advances but telling him her 'sins' made her hot and hot sex ensues, hopefully rough. :)

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” says the woman on the far side of the confessional screen. “It has been two weeks since my last confession.”

Frollo glances through the screen, to see the woman’s bowed head and flowing red hair. He does not recognise her; perhaps she is new to this parish, has been elsewhere. Her accent is unusual.

“Welcome, my child,” he says, trying to make the words sound less bored than he feels. “When you are ready, tell me of your sins.”

“I am guilty of the sin of lust, Father,” the woman replies immediately, without hesitation or stumbling on the words, and Frollo raises his eyebrows at the bluntness of it. “I know that copulation should only be done in order to have children, but I take great pleasure in it. Often I will ask my husband to take me two or three times in one night, and if he is no longer able to get erect I will ask him to use his fingers on my cunny instead.”

He is speechless, utterly speechless. From behind the safety of the confessional screen, Frollo stares harder at the young woman, the glimmer of her hair in the candlelight, the pale curve of her breasts in her low-cut pink dress. Too low-cut for church, and usually he would sniff, but now he stares at the sway of her milk-white skin as she breathes.

“In the two weeks since my last confession, we have copulated every night, and on many of the mornings,” the woman continues. Her head is bowed, hands clasped together, voice utterly matter-of-fact, and Frollo has no idea what he should do. He has never heard such words from a woman’s lips! He might expect such from some street harlot, but this woman is clearly nobility, well-dressed and well-spoken. “On four… no, five occasions, I have used my mouth upon his prick, and twice have let him spend into my mouth. I enjoyed the taste of it; it reminded me of the sea.”

As she speaks, he can just catch a glimpse of her red lips, and imagine them stretched about a man’s prick. He can imagine her wet tongue swirling against the head of a cock; for the first moment he can merely see it in his mind’s eye, but as his own cock stirs beneath his robes he becomes acutely aware of how it would feel to have her mouth upon his prick. Whether she would like the taste of his come as much as she likes her husband’s.

“Six times, my husband has used his fingers on me, that I might feel pleasure from his touch inside my cunny. Four times, he has used his mouth on me, using his tongue in my cunny and on my clit in order to bring me to climax.”

Frollo stifles a choked sound, all too aware of his cock now almost aching-hard beneath his robes. Who _is_ this young woman’s husband, that they copulate so frequently and so flagrantly? Clearly the woman herself is utterly wanton, and men are weak, after all; clearly, she comes to her husband begging for such acts, and he cannot help but oblige her. If she asks him in anything like so beautiful a voice as she describes her sins now, Frollo cannot at all blame him.

“Once,” she goes on, apparently unaware of the effect of her words upon him, “I have seated myself upon his face, that he might lick my cunny while I toy with his nipples and look at his cock. I greatly like to look at his cock, Father, though I know that it should not give me pleasure to do such. It stands so straight and erect, and I take great pleasure in wrapping my hand around it and in stroking it until he is quite ready to burst upon my skin.”

Beneath his robes, Frollo moves one shaking hand to rest over his own cock. It strains against the fabric of his underclothes, and he can feel a spreading dampness from the tip of it. As it twitches in his hand, he clenches his teeth to keep a groan from leaving him.

The woman pauses for a moment, and he glances, feeling sweat on his brow that only blushes afresh when he sees her bite her lip. The angle of her head, less bowed, gives him a clear view of her beautiful face, wide blue eyes and faint colour high in her cheekbones. It is all too easy to imagine what it would be like to see white streaks splattered across her skin, dripping from her chin; _my God_ , he thought, _why is it that you have made us so weak to such filthy women and their harlotry?_

“When we do copulate with his prick in my cunny, as we ought,” the woman says, “even so we do not always take the positions which we should. I have found that it pleases me greatly to be on my hands and knees while he takes me from behind–”

He can imagine it so clearly, her wet cunny framed by her pale legs and the globes of her ass, kneeling like an animal waiting to be rutted. His breath comes faster, and Frollo fights to remain quiet.

“–or should he lie upon his back that I might be the one to mount him, instead.”

Even through layers of clothes, his hand closes around his shaft. Frollo closes his eyes, needs to shift his hand only minutely, and it is like some demon is lighting fires within his soul, all that he can imagine is this woman and the activities which she so blithely describes to him.

“And even when we are not copulating, Father, I think of it most regularly. I need only to sit in a certain way or to catch sight of the front of my husband’s breeches, and I am set at once to thinking of the ways in which I intend to copulate with him that evening. Once this past fortnight I have even taken him into a locked room away from his courtiers, that we might copulate upon the floor, for I simply was not able to think otherwise.”

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, and his hand shifts again against his shaft. He should not, _must not_ , but he is aware now of the scent of her perfume beneath the incense of the church, and why even would his body react like this had God not willed it be so? It is clear that this woman has been sent to him, before her harlotry spreads beyond her husband, before she displays her wantonness upon the streets.

“Even now, Father,” and for the first time there is a catch in the woman’s voice, and Frollo opens his eyes just for a moment more to see that she is breathing fast, her hands still clutched together tightly but a blush spreading over her breasts. They tremble gloriously. “Even now as I speak to you of all the lust which I have felt, I can feel it spreading within my body again. There is the wetness in my cunny which is always there when I wish for my husband’s prick, and I wish now to return to him that he might take me again.”

It is too much. Frollo thrusts into his hand and feels himself spill, fireworks and blackness exploding behind his eyes, a rush of pleasure like fire in his veins. The wetness of his come is trapped around him, and it feels like the wetness of a mouth; the sensation drives him onwards, hand jerkily moving the wet cloth against his twitching cock as he spills more streaks within it.

He almost does not hear her words. “What should I do for repentance, Father?”

It is all that he can do to breathe, and not to pant, as he snatches his hand away from his cock again. Yes, there is devilry within this woman, and her wantonness needed to be controlled. For a reason, she had been sent to him. He would have to deal with her himself.

“Go home,” he said, and cursed the hoarseness of his own voice, “and think on this, on what it means to give your body over to fleshly lusts rather than to keep the mind pure. Recite four Hail Marys, that the virgin mother might assist you in learning to control your urges. Do not copulate with your husband this night, or until you can be sure that it is only for reproductive purposes once again.”

“Thank you, Father,” the woman says.

“Now, we shall say together the Act of Contrition,” he continues.

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. But most of all because I have offended you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen.”

The words are easy, come forth cleanly from his lips, and it cools his mind but leaves him also with nothing to distract him from the wetness of his clothing, Onan’s sign upon him.

She leaves, and he tries not to breathe in the wake of her perfume.

 

 

 

 

 

Two weeks later, she returns. Thoughts of her had all but faded in Frollo’s mind (at least during the day; at night her image haunts him, red hair swirling as she mouths at his cock, her mouth parted in ecstasy as she rides upon him) but when he catches a glimpse of her red hair through the panels, his mouth turns dry.

Again, she begins in sweet mild words, then goes on to tell at length the lusts that have consumed her. It was only three days, she says, before she was copulating with her husband again, reaching peaks of pleasure multiple times in one night that only seemed more intense for having spent time without it. She has ridden upon her husband’s face and taken his cock in her mouth both at once; she has let him spend upon her breasts while she uses her fingers upon her own cunny; she has pleasured herself beneath the table whilst they are at dinner, unable to stop thinking about the feeling of her husband’s prick.

Her penance has only served to worsen her, it seems. Frollo manages to gasp his way through another penance, his cock painfully hard beneath his robes again. This time he pulls his robes aside, exposes his prick to the air, and presses the head of it into his palm, rolling and smearing about the wetness, as the woman explains that so great now is her lustfulness that she has ridden her husband until he spends and his cock softens, but then has kept him within her and continued in her movements until he has become hard again.

She says something that he does not understand, something about not expecting this to come with legs, but at that very moment the movement of his hand and the thought of her actions becomes too much and Frollo comes upon his own hand in hot spurts, dripping to the confessional floor, streaking on his skin.

“Go home,” he says, “and this time recite six Hail Marys. Return to the church this evening, come sunset; clearly this is serious, and we must talk further.”

The woman hesitates, and when she speaks her voice is a little uncertain, but she speaks all the same. “Yes, Father.”

 

 

 

 

 

Night falls, and he waits within the walls of the church for the woman’s return. There is a Bible open on Frollo’s lap, but he cannot see the words, can think only of the woman’s words of what she has done. Clearly the lust is deep in her, even to the extent that her husband’s touch cannot satisfy her. She needs to be dealt with, needs to have that wantonness restrained before it spreads too much and begins to consume also those around her.

He can feel the stirring of his cock. Already it has begun to consume him.

Finally, the door creaks open, and Frollo rises to his feet and turns. For the first time, he sees the woman clearly, and is shocked to realise that it is the Princess whose husband is visiting the parish, who is staying at the great home. It explains why she was a stranger to him, but it only shocks him more to think that such a noblewoman should be so devoured by carnality.

“Father,” she says, with a dip of her head. Her hair is rich and lustrous, shining dangerously in the candlelight, and he thinks of all the whores of history who have had red hair, and who would have killed for hair such as hers. Her gown is low-cut again, a pale green, so deep that it almost shows her nipples despite the swathe of lace that comes high enough to almost be considered decent. She pauses, uncertain, blue eyes darting around.

“You came back, my child,” he says, hoping that his voice sounds soothing. Her fine clothes flatter her slender young body, only serving to evoke the eroticism that might otherwise be hidden within her. “That is good. Come, sit with me.”

She sits beside him on the backmost of the pews, hands folded in her lap. At first, her eyes are there, then they stray upwards. It is immodest, Frollo decides, but unsurprising given what else he knows of her.

“You say that this sin of lust is quite consuming you.”

“There are times, Father,” she says, more cautiously. “When I first came here, I did not know it was a sin… now that I have been told, of course, I knew that I had to tell you when I confessed.”

His heart quickens in his chest. “This has been troubling you for some time, then?”

“Ever since my husband and I were married, Father. I could not count how many times we have copulated, just for our pleasure.”

Frollo places his hand in her lap, right at the crux of her thighs, and she draws her breath in sharply. Her eyes widen, and _oh_ , he is not even sure if what he glimpses there is her innocence or her deep lechery. He can feel the warmth of her against his palm. “You appreciate that lust is one of the seven greatest of sins, my child?” she nods. “It attacks in mind and body both, but in indulging in it we only take a momentary pleasure, and hollow ourselves from appreciating what is true in love. You love your husband, do you not?”

“Of course!”

“But in indulging in such wantonness, you cheapen that love between you. To do such acts as you described, it undermines the relationship that you have.”

She takes a shaking breath, her bust all but overspilling her dress; he forces his eyes not to stray from hers. “But Father,” she says, intensely, “when I copulate with my husband, I feel closer to him. When I take his prick into my mouth, or have his fingers in my cunny, it deepens the bond between us.”

“Nonsense!” says Frollo, sternly. She falls quiet again. “Such a matter is one of the flesh only, it is not suitable for a husband and a wife. Not suitable at all.” _My God, why do you send me a challenge such as her with whom to speak?_ “You have said yourself that these desires come upon you when you are nowhere near your husband, even within the confessional itself where all sins should be paid for and not indulged in.”

She swallows; he sees the movement of her throat, and tries not to imagine how her mouth would feel about his cock. “Yes, Father.”

“Do you not see? These lusts,” his hand tightens upon her thigh, almost of its own accord, and she gasps. But not in pain, no; he can hear the arousal in her voice as well, see it glittering in her eyes in the way that she looks at him, both fearful and desiring. “They grip you like some savage beast. You are too young, too vulnerable to them. Even now, you feel them, do you not?”

Another pause, then her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Yes, Father.”

“Tell me.” When she hesitates, his hand tightens again. “Tell me, child.”

“I feel the wetness starting again in my cunny, Father,” she says. “Where your hand is on my thigh, I can feel its warmth. I see your fingers and I…” she falters.

His fingers squeeze more gently, rolling circles on her thigh. He can feel the softness of her skin, and the way that she settles her thighs a little further apart. “Tell me.”

“I wonder what they would feel like within me.” Her voice is breathy, and his cock is hardening again beneath his clothes. He can see her wet, shining lips, the movement of her tongue. Oh, but the lust is deep within her. “I see that they are longer than my husband’s fingers, or mine. Each time I speak or think of the acts which I have done, it seems to only make me want them more.”

“Such is the nature of sin,” says Frollo. And he should know, Lord, he knows more than any of them, how sin is insidious and creeping, how it can cause to wither plants planted in the brightest sunlight. He sees the rottenness in her now, can feel how it is threatening to infect him also, how he must stay strong before it. “You must not allow this to corrupt your holy matrimony.”

“What can I do?”

Her eyes are wide and blue, deep blue like the ocean, and for a moment the colour is so intense that it makes Frollo think of other, green eyes. But he forces the thought aside; the woman’s skin is creamy-pale, her hair blood-red, and she leans eagerly in to listen to him, offering up the curves of her breasts.

“Trial though it may be,” he says gravely, “if you were to spend your lusts upon me, instead, to save your husband from them, then I would be able to bear the sin for you.”

She looks at him in shock, eyes widening. “You would do that for me?”

His cock is hard, and it takes effort not to move his hand from where it lies just inches away upon his knee. This is for the best, he tells himself; this keeps her married relationship pure and clean. He can pray for forgiveness, and for his holy nature it will be understood; she is only a woman, and one besotted with lusts at that, but if her husband can be spared then it is all the better.

“Yes.”

She hesitates, breathing heavily, then reaches down and hitches up her skirts about her waist. It reveals her underclothes beneath, the slip of thigh between their hem and the tops of her garters, and he can see through the slit the curls of her lower hair just as red as those upon her head. His cock aches. “Then please, Father, spend this sin upon me.”

He needs no second request. His right hand slips straight beneath her clothes, parting hair and lips to slide straight into the tight warmth of her cunny. She moans, sweet and musical, as he pumps his fingers into her in time with the pounding of his heart. Her skirts pool around her waist as she clutches her to him, his face pressed to her breasts, and he can smell her skin and her perfume both mingled together.

“Ever since I have spoken of my lusts within this church,” she whispers, “I have not been able to enter it without being desirous of them.”

“Then let this purge you of them,” he replies. It amazes him that he can even speak, his voice barely wanting to respond as he plunges two fingers into her, over and over. She is so _tight_ , God help him, for all her licentiousness, and as her inner muscles clench about his hands he thinks that he might spend from that sensation alone.

Then he feels her other hand move, and glances down past her breasts half-filling his vision to see that she too has slid one hand into her clothing. She toys with the nub of flesh that surmounts her sex, and her panting becomes whining in his ear as with his fingers he continues to fill her.

She is so filthy with lust, he realises; this is _necessary_ , it is meant to be, that he might slake her lusts for her. A whine escapes her, low in her throat, and then he feels her muscles clenching and she stifles a cry on tight-pressed lips as she climaxes around him. Wet heat surrounds his fingers, and he groans against her warm flesh through the lace of her dress, still plunging two fingers into her.

“Father,” she breathes, “oh, Father…”

“Are you free of these thoughts?” He pushes to sit upright again, even with his fingers still buried in her and wetness brushing against his palm, and looks at her as sternly and seriously as he can manage. “Or do they haunt you still?”

Her cheeks are flushed, eyes shining in the low candlelight. “They are still with me,” she says.

It is clear to him in a heartbeat; they cannot be purged from her in any other way. Standing up, he pulls her upright; she yelps, but it gives way to a gasp as he pushes her down, bends her over the very pew on which they had been sitting. Her rumpled skirts push up easily, and this time he pulls down her underclothes to reveal the pearly globes of her ass, and her cunny, God, her cunny just as he had imagined it. Slick pink folds, crested with red curls, glistening in the light and trembling as she breathes.

Hurriedly, he pulls his robes aside to release his prick, throbbing-hard and aching for the wetness of her. He positions himself; she arches her back, proffering her hungry cunny to him, and seems to push back against him as he slides home.

The wetness of her is overwhelming. It is so easy a fit, so clear how greatly she enjoys such matters, how inflamed these lusts have made her. His hands tighten on her hips, through her rucked-up skirt, and a moan escapes her lips as he withdraws only to thrust into her again.

She braces herself against the pew as he fucks her, crushing the fabric of her clothes as his hands clasp bruising-tight to her hips. One of her knees is on the pew, the other foot planted to the ground, hips arched up to offer herself to him as she moans and pants. The wet slap of skin-on-skin reverberates around them, made sweet by the musical sounds that she makes, the whimpers and the gasps. Her breasts shake in the confines of her gown, and he leans over her and reaches to take hold of one, weight filling his hand, nipple hard as he pinches it. She moans with pleasure again, rocks into him harder, hands tightening on the wood of the pew.

“Did you desire this?” Frollo says, voice half-strangled. He squeezes her breast, until she shivers with pleasure and pain mixed together, bowing her head but still pushing back so willingly into him. “When you came into this place?”

“When I heard your voice,” she replies, her own voice heady with lust. He swallows, throat dry, and releases her breast that he might take hold of her bare hips instead. Her skirts are fully pushed aside now, around her waist, and again she seems to tighten around him as he pumps hard into her. “When I heard your voice as I had spoken of my lusts, and – oh!” she bucks against him, clenches around him, and again it is all that he can do not to spend within her.

Her sinful loins are wrapped around him, warmer than his own hand, softer than his own skin, and the whimpering sounds of pleasure that she makes as he takes her are finer than anything his own imagination could ever have provided. Barely does he even notice the way that they are building before she climaxes again around him, throwing back her head with a cry as she seems to gush wetness around him.

Sharply, he withdraws from her, the air scaldingly cool against his cock, still wet with her and swaying as he breathes. Again his eyes are drawn to her cunny, to this seat of her sin, droplets shining in the curls of hair as she trembles in the aftermath of her peak. Then she turns to face him, breasts still falling forth from her dress to be constrained only by the white lace, like seafoam cresting on her skin. Her mouth is a sinful scarlet ribbon, even as her wet tongue darts out across it.

“Thank you,” she says, before he can speak again. Her skirts slide down to cover her legs, to cover the evidence of her debauchery, and for a moment he wonders if he will be left to take himself into his hand only for her to drop to her knees in front of him, grasp his prick, and take it into her mouth all in a moment and too fast for him to react.

He makes another choked sound, and wraps his hand into the rich red threads of her hair, even as she makes a breathless sound against his shaft. Her wetness is still on her, and all he can think is that she must be able to taste herself, taste her own sin upon his prick, but she sucks at him eagerly, mouth and tongue moving on his skin.

Even as she draws back her mouth from him again, she pumps with her hand, and it is all that he can do not to thrust into it as she looks up at him with those same sparkling blue eyes.

“Would you have me finish you also, Father?” she breathes, even as her hand still teases at his skin. “I know that what you do is only for my sake, that I may be purged of this sin… I was not sure…”

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, and with his hand still wound into her hair he thrusts into her hand, hard, and she looks at his cock so _eagerly_ , he can tell that there are still lingering strains of this lust within her. Perhaps she will need to come back, he thinks, and at the thought of her like this again, or bent forward as he takes her, making those whining sounds of pleasure, climax finally consumes him.

It splatters across her face, and she makes a sound of surprise but there is _pleasure_ in it still, pleasure that his seed should be so spilled for her. Pearly-white strings streak her cheeks, bead on her flushed lips, sparkle in her eyebrows. Her tongue darts out again, and she licks the pads of her fingers where, Frollo belatedly realises, signs of him also linger. She moans, low and faint in her throat, and a look of bliss passes across her face, curving at her lips and warming in her eyes.

“My child,” Frollo finally manages to say, hoarse-voiced. “These lusts within you, are they mitigated, if not expunged?”

She nods, eagerly. “Yes, Father.”

“Good.” He swallows. It was meant to be, he can only assume; she was meant to come to him. After so many years of righteousness, he can take this sin upon himself, he can save her. “You understand, then, how this may help you.”

Another, breathless, nod.

“And you will come to me again if you find yourself again in such a state.”

It is bold, and he knows it, but so eagerly does she look upon him, still with his glistening come beading on her chin; how can he but make the offer to her? Out of benevolence, of course, for the goodness of her soul and that of her husband’s both.

(Not, no, not for the thrilling sounds that she makes, for the wet heat of her cunny, for the glow of arousal in her blue eyes. No, those things are not for his kind; he has long since been above those. Only necessity could have driven him to this.)

“What is your name, child?”

“Ariel,” she says, and the word is like a song.


End file.
